


One Day

by HistoryNerd1066



Series: The Lone Soldier [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 08:46:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15530562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HistoryNerd1066/pseuds/HistoryNerd1066
Summary: Constance sat alone, her husband away on business and her lodger waiting with his incomplete band of brothers. Her thoughts couldn’t help but wander to the Musketeer who had asked d’Artagnan to bring the deserter – and failed assassin – into her home, and it was difficult to suppress the grief she felt.





	One Day

**Author's Note:**

> My second Musketeers fic, yay!  
> I actually started this two years ago, finally finished it. I don't think it went as well as I hoped, but I'll leave that to you to judge.  
> I love the relationship Constance and Aramis have, honestly would have loved more of it in the show. 
> 
> Any comments are greatly appreciated, love a good read. 
> 
> Thanks! :)

It was d’Artagnan who relayed the events of the day to Constance, but once he’d done so he was soon out the door again, leaving the young Madame Bonacieux staring wistfully after him. She understood his desire to hurry back to the garrison though, since he told her of Marsac’s death and Aramis’ sudden disappearance. Tréville had given his men little more information, arguing that it was Aramis’ decision whether to tell them the particulars. When Porthos piped up, asking on the whereabouts of their friend, Tréville refused to say, instead ordering them to wait until daylight before searching for him. Constance rolled her eyes, refusing to believe for a second that they could follow such orders, and Tréville must have known himself, too.

Now Constance sat alone, her husband away on business and her lodger waiting with his incomplete band of brothers. Her thoughts couldn’t help but wander to the Musketeer who had asked d’Artagnan to bring the deserter – and failed assassin – into her home, and it was difficult to suppress the grief she felt. Not so much for Marsac, the liar who almost forced himself on her had it not been for her faithful lodger, but for Aramis who had known the man he had been before. It was difficult to believe the sweet talker had suffered through so much; always smiling, joking, _loving._ Shaking her head, Constance sighed, wondering what other secrets this man kept hidden in the depths of his soul.

She frowned when a sudden knock at the door disturbed her thoughts. Her companions never called at such an hour and with her husband away she wasn’t expecting any callers for him. She opened the door to find a young Musketeer standing, dripping wet, on her doorstep looking quite lost.

“Good evening, Madame Bonacieux,” the Musketeer spoke, sounding so much more serious than usual.

“Aramis?” Constance hesitated, staring at the man at her door. “You’re soaking! Come inside, quick,” she ushered him into his home, “come on.” Herding him towards the fireplace in the living room, she sat him down as close to it as possible. The soldier followed her quietly, which was more disconcerting than comforting. Any other day perhaps, it would have been satisfying to not see his annoyingly mischievous smirk sitting on his face, but today it only reminded her of his new, sudden grief, and her anxieties for him simply increased.

Once she deemed him to be in a comfortable position close to the fire in a cosy chair, she hurried to grab a couple of small blankets to bring some warmth back to her freezing friend. For his part, Aramis stayed still and compliant, staring intently into the fire.

“What on earth were you doing out there in such dreadful weather!” berating him, she patted him down to dry him off, becoming exasperated more with his uncharacteristic submissiveness than his utter recklessness. It was a great difficulty restraining herself from ordering him to smile or to make some impish comment as he often did. Continuing to warm him, she sighed when he still refused to utter a single word since she had brought him inside. Seeing the absent gaze in his eyes, Constance knew he was somewhere else, a different time, and she daren’t do anything that might startle him.

Instead, her tone softened as she told him to warm himself, “the blankets will get damp but there are plenty more, and the fire should help. You’re probably going to have a nasty cold, though.” She placed her hands on her hips as she lifted herself from her kneeling position beside him. Her face fell when even this failed to bring him from his stupor, but still she soothed him and watched some colour, though faint, return to his cheeks.

As soon as she was sure Aramis was recovering, physically at least, she stood and contemplated leaving him alone whilst she went to explain to his brothers that he had arrived at her home barely uttering a word. Constance knew they would all be eager to hear how their comrade was, especially after all that had transpired. d’Artagnan had told her of their dispute and how Aramis had mostly been alone in dealing with Marsac’s accusations, although her young lodger told her Athos and Porthos were right to stay loyal to their captain. Nevertheless, she noticed him chewing his bottom lip as he told her so, his mind working to make him actually believe what he was saying. Constance wondered how Aramis would treat their distrust of his old friend but felt the need to unite them as soon as possible to prevent any ill will festering in his mind.

Hurriedly, she gathered her things, so she would not get so wet, and spared Aramis a pained glance. “Aramis,” unwilling to completely break the silence, she kept her tone low, but did not wait for him to look at her before finishing. “I hope you won’t hesitate in taking more blankets, they’re just beside you. I don’t wish to be gone too long, but I know your friends want to know where you are at least, even if you don’t want to see them right now.” Sighing, she seemed to be fighting with herself on whether this was the right decision. Aramis was so frail now, was he best left alone? “I should go and tell them, they’re so worried.” Yes, they _were_ worried, they had a right to know. She _had_ to go.

She quickly made her way to the door, although found it difficult to pretend she hadn’t heard him call her name. Pausing, she waited where she stood, hand on the handle. She hoped perhaps she had misheard, that she only wanted him to say something. Unfortunately, she heard his voice once more, slightly louder than it had been a moment ago, “Constance?”

Her resolve faltered easily, and she returned to the living room, unable to refuse him when he seemed so depressed. Aramis, for his part, was finally looking up at her, eyes staring right into hers seemingly desperately searching for something. Constance wondered what he hoped to find, for she didn’t think she had the answers he needed. Did anyone? Never had she imagined seeing such a hearty man look so incredibly vulnerable, and she couldn’t help but feel helpless and somewhat uncomfortable around the new marksman. Again, the urge to shake him from his melancholy and summon the man she had slapped on several occasions rose to the surface, but again she fought to resist it.

“Madame,” Aramis started, reaching his cold hand out to reach hers. She was shocked by how cold it was, and wrapper her own tightly around it as she knelt beside him, watching his expression turn into a plea.

He was forced to clear his throat before continuing, “Constance, I understand your desire for me to see my brothers.” A sigh left him as he shook his eyes, their abandonment still fresh on his mind evidently. Constance, although often misjudged simply because she was a woman, noticed this and held his hand tighter for reassurance. “However, I would not have come here if I desired to speak with them. No, it is you I wish to speak to.”

* * *

 

Settling herself down across from Aramis, her own chair at an angle towards the fireplace, Constance waited patiently for her friend to continue. He had been so quiet, she wondered if he would, or his plan was to use her home as a rest stop. Not a rest stop, she corrected herself, but a safe space. He trusted her, she believed, otherwise he wouldn’t be here now, his vulnerability in plain view for her to study. The Musketeer wasn’t fidgeting, but seemed comfortably in place, so he was not nervous to speak. His slumped form highlighted his exhaustion, although Constance wouldn’t have needed to see him fast asleep to figure that out. More colour had returned to him, and he seemed a lot more aware of his surroundings, no longer in that faraway place.

She felt her fingers tapping her hands, her own nervousness getting the better of her. It was difficult to decide whether she was more nervous to hear what he wanted to speak to her about or dealing with it. In the middle of planning her next move, a timid voice interrupted her thoughts.

“I didn’t plan on coming here tonight, Constance.” His eyes briefly flicked upwards, and Constance noticed he was making an effort to look at her. Perhaps he was a little nervous, then. “Tréville and I first visited the cemetery together. Marsac… he’s…” Aramis coughed into his fist, eyes flinching away from his friend. Constance felt herself fill with sympathy as she reached over to cover his hand with her own.

“Aramis, it’s alright,” she whispered, nodding comfortingly. “I know what happened. Please, you don’t have to tell me if it’s too hard-”

“No, Constance.” Shaking his head, Constance felt him squeezing her hand before letting go gently. “I must.” Constance watched him, staring into his eyes now. He blinked, answering her silent question, and she sat back in her seat, allowing him to continue.

“Tréville left before I could, I still had things to say, to just… get out.” His hands curled into fists again, showing his frustration, and Constance wondered how much he beat himself up for things he didn’t say when he’d had the chance. “After that, well I didn’t really have a destination in mind. I certainly couldn’t go back to the garrison, there was just too much going on there, it was too busy. Plus, as you said, my friends are all there waiting for me. I can’t face them. Not yet,” letting out a resigned sigh, he seemed to smile a little when Constance nodded in understanding. It soon fell, however, as he continued his tale. “I simply wandered the streets of Paris. I noticed the rain, although my brain didn’t fully process it, and my feet refused to stop. Eventually I found myself here, Madame, outside your door.”

“You said you came to see me,” she interrupted, confused. “Without intention?”

“I may not have known I was walking here, but my feet brought me here.” he emphasised, “And I trust you, Constance. I feel I can confide in you.”

“Of course, I’m always here.” Constance smiled reassuringly, noticing the hint of questioning in his tone, as if he was nervous she would turn him away. It wasn’t in her nature to do so to anybody, especially not one of her Musketeers.

“Anyway, I wished to thank you for your help during this time. I realise I imposed on you greatly asking you to take Marsac in, and to allow his stay even after learning the truth. For that I thank you dearly.”

“Please Aramis, it was fine.” It had been fine to do this little favour for her friends, she wasn’t lying in that sense. Although the memory of his vile friend’s short stay made anger burn inside her. It was hidden from Aramis, behind her willingness to aid him. “I’m just sorry it turned out this way,”

“Yes,” he dropped his head, burying it in his hands. “As am I.”

* * *

 

Bringing his head out to smile at her, he thanked her again, “you are a truly good woman, Madame. I just wish I had received such support from my… brothers. I understand their dislike of Marsac, but they weren’t there. I forgave him, I _understood._ They didn’t. Still, though, even that doesn’t matter.”

“What is it, Aramis?” Constance spoke once they had reached a break in the conversation.

“They are my _brothers._ We stand by each other, no matter what. We _trust_ one another. _All for one,”_ he laughed bitterly, suddenly repulsed by the familiar motto. “It wasn’t Marsac they had to believe, it was never Marsac.”

“It was you,” she finished for him, seeing the grimace appear on his face in agreement. “They allowed you to question Tréville?”

“Yes,” he scoffed. “And when it became clear the evidence was not in his favour they soon retreated!” he threw his hands somewhat in exasperation. He was playing it round and round in a loop, wondering what went wrong, and Constance was truly helpless. She understood his frustration with his friends, and she wishes she could have had words with them at the time. Although, without having the full picture, would she have still sided with Aramis?

Seeing him now, desperate and alone, it was easy to decide that she would; his brothers were wrong for leaving him to deal with this situation on his own. However, Marsac deserted his post and he had abandoned Aramis himself, was this man really trustworthy? Was he in a reliable enough position to challenge Tréville’s actions and leadership? Or was he just a rude, obnoxious broken man who had attempted to assassinate the Duke of Savoy as well as force himself on her. Yes, it would have been difficult to support such a side when faced with these facts.

* * *

 

“I’m sorry, Constance,” the broken man closed his eyes as he shook his head, seemingly attempting to focus all of his thoughts. It was painful to watch the usually smooth charmer confused and lost. “I shouldn’t be here, offloading on you,” placing his hands firmly on the arms of his seat, he tried to push himself up.

“What?” his host soon stood up by his side, pushing him softly back down, refusing to let him outside again in the rain after working so hard to get him warm.

“I only wished to thank you, you have been very kind, but this is my burden.” His efforts to get past Constance seemed futile, due to emotional and physical weariness, and her own stubborn strength. “I have surely bothered you enough?”

“Oh, be quiet,” successfully sitting him back down, she replied smiling. “I told you, I’m here.”

“But Constance, aren’t you busy? And where is your husband, is he waiting for you upstairs? Am I keeping you?” the sincerity in his voice, the worry, melted her heart and she rubbed his arm.

“My husband is away on business, Aramis, you are no bother to me at all. _Please,_ you say you trust me, well trust me when I tell you I don’t mind.”

* * *

 

Watching the Musketeer, now fidgeting a little, Constance wondered how he would recover from this. He looked so awfully morose, and she honestly never thought she would associate such an emotion to Aramis! Aramis was the romantic, the optimist, filled with enthusiasm and confidence for anything and everything. It was Athos whom she thought of when she thought of deep melancholy, the man a sharp contrast to the one sitting in front of her, although not at this moment. Constance wouldn’t allow her friend to sink so deep into his own mind he became a shell of the man he once was, the Inseparables already had someone filling the position.

“Will you ever forgive them?” she asked when the silence became unbearable, curious as he seemed so desperately angry with them.

“I don’t doubt it,” he answered easily, hardly even taken by surprise by the question. “I’m angry now, with everything, with _them._ I will forgive them though, because they are my brothers, and I swore to stay loyal to them no matter what.”

“I’m glad,” she smiled sweetly, although it was not returned. A wound had been opened with Marsac’s return, and his friends had not been there to help it heal. Aramis though, Constance already knew, was an incredibly forgiving person, a strength she admired him for.

“Yes, I will make my peace with them. Even though, they were wrong. Marsac’s information was correct,” Constance’s eyes widened as her friend whispered this secret to her, as if anybody could be listening.

“You mean-” Aramis nodded.

Constance was shocked; she had had her suspicions, because she understood there were always secrets and rumours and conspiracies within politics. Still, Tréville appeared different to her, as he obviously did to the other Musketeers.

“You’ve not told them?” she asked once she gathered herself, processing this new information.

“I don’t intend to, no, and I would appreciate it if this stayed strictly within these walls, between only the two of us?”

“Of course, of course. I shall not tell a soul,” she swore, receiving a nod in thanks.

“I’ve made my peace with Tréville,” Aramis added, opening up to his generous host. “He made a mistake, politics and soldiery are difficult games to play. He lives with the knowledge that he led twenty-two men to their deaths, and only one returned, another now buried, too. That seems punishment enough.”

* * *

The ticking of the clock became loud as they sat in a comfortable silence, neither needing to say any more. Aramis seemed somewhat at peace, although he understandably seemed more fragile than ever. Looking at him, processing all he had told her, Constance knew he would be back to himself in a few days, if not sooner. He was remarkably strong, would have to be after everything he’s suffered through, more so than you would usually give him credit for. Tonight, she had really seen the depths of her brother, and began to really see _him,_ rather than the act he played in full view of everyone else. He had even opened himself up to her about his brothers, giving her an even deeper glimpse than they had into his soul. It saddened her that he felt he couldn’t speak to them, but also warmed her heart knowing he felt he could trust her so much.

Eventually she knew he wanted to leave, his feet becoming agitated, eager to move as they tapped on the floor. “You may borrow this, to keep you warm out there.” She handed him a blanket, which would help cover him from any more rainfall as well, although it sounded as if it had at least stopped hammering down at such force. “Where will you go?”

“I may wander again,” he shrugged, although continued when Constance expressed her disapproval. “I shall wander my way to my lodgings, Madame Bonacieux.”

“Will you return to the garrison tomorrow?”

“I will have to, I must face my friends at some point.”

“Just not tonight,” Constance smiled sadly.

“Not tonight,” her guest sighed.

* * *

 

“I must thank you again, dear Constance,” he treated her to a genuine smile as he wrapped his hand around the handle. “Thank you for your kindness this evening, and I trust it will only be between the two of us?”

“Aramis,” she said sternly.

“I know, you will keep it. Thank you,” he smiled again, leaning over to kiss her cheek appreciatively.

Opening the door, he grimaced at the appalling weather awaiting him. He most certainly would be waking up with an awful headache tomorrow, as Constance warned him. “Aramis?”

“Constance?” he turned to face her, one foot almost out the door.

“I am sorry, for everything that happened.”

“Thank you,” he dropped his head in mourning. “He is at peace now, that is all that matters.”

“And you?”

“Perhaps. One day.”


End file.
